


These Things That I've Done

by erin_emily_writes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I loved writing it, M/M, also newsies, i hope you all like it, not much but I thought I should mention it still, please enjoy, some violence, this is my first marvel fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erin_emily_writes/pseuds/erin_emily_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the figure standing in the hall was mostly in shadow, there was no mistaking him. “Bucky,” was all Steve managed to whisper, gaping and just as dumbstruck as he had been that day on the bridge.</p><p>Steve has been looking for Bucky for months. Just as he is about to give up, Bucky finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. откуда ни возьмись

**Steve**

The apartment looked about the same as he’d left it, though a thick layer of dust had settled on the furniture and now-empty shelves. Slivers of moonlight cut through the room between boards that covered the windows. Steve just stood in the middle of the room, clutching a crumpled handwritten list in his hand, and wishing.

This apartment was Steve’s last hope. He and Sam had followed every lead in the file Natasha had given them, but none of them had turned up Bucky. On the rare occasions when they encountered someone still loyal to HYDRA, Steve would always try to pry some information about ‘the Winter Soldier’ or ‘the asset’ out of them, ignoring the bitter taste those words left in his mouth every time.

It had taken five months to get through the list. On the final flight back to D.C., Sam had done his best to convince Steve that they had done all they could, that it was no one’s fault that they hadn’t found him, and that Steve would be okay, eventually. Steve had listened, nodded at all the right times, and thanked him for the help and support, but he didn’t take any of it to heart.

Steve couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Somehow, he knew Bucky was out there. And so he left the airport, declining to share a cab with Sam back to the apartment building they both lived in, and instead took one to the one place he thought Bucky might remember.

Now, he stood still in the middle of the living room, listening for signs of movement and trying to ignore his watch as it loudly ticked the minutes by. He closed his eyes and thought of the old Bucky, from before either of them went to war in the first place. He felt suddenly just like he had when he woke up from his coma — like his whole world had been irrevocably changed, and he didn’t know if this second loss of Bucky was something he could recover from.

Steve waited for going on two hours before he let the words ‘he’s not here’ float across his mind. He sagged to the floor, leaning against a wall and let the rational part of his brain convince him that, no, Bucky was not there, and he wasn’t going to be there, and he was never going to see him again and dammit if he had just reached a little farther he wouldn’t even be in this mess right now and suddenly he was choking back sobs and swears and he was glad no one was around to hear him.

“Get it together, Steve,” he mumbled to himself, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.

He stood up to go, wiping his face on his sleeve and brushing the dust from his jeans, covering his mouth and nose as he did — it was one of those habits he never grew out of, even though his asthma was no more. Just then, he heard the apartment door creak open.

 _Sam_ , he thought, _he followed me_. Steve wasn’t surprised.

“I’m in the living room, Sam,” he called, putting on a neutral expression. He started to tell Sam he didn’t have to come here, that he was fine, but as he turned, the words caught in his throat.

Though the figure standing in the hall was mostly in shadow, there was no mistaking him.

“Bucky,” was all Steve managed to whisper, gaping and just as dumbstruck as he had been that day on the bridge.

Silence followed. Bucky stood just inside the hall, but Steve could see that his hair was still long, and he was wearing some old jeans and a baggy hoodie, and his left hand was covered with a glove.

Steve’s heart raced. He made no sudden movements and made sure to hold his hands where Bucky could see them, so he knew Steve wasn’t armed.

“Steve,” Bucky finally said back. “You’re Steve Rogers.” His voice was monotone.

Steve nodded.

“We were friends,” Bucky said, more quietly this time, and Steve could have sworn he actually felt his heart clench at the past tense.

“You are my best friend,” he replied, perhaps more fiercely than he had intended.

“I… I have been trying to remember… who I am.” He paused. “You show up a lot.”

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” Steve said, hesitating for a moment before he continued. “I’ve been looking for you, Buck.”

“I know.”

That stung. “I just want to help, if I can.” Steve tried to keep his voice even.

“I think… maybe I need… that.”

It was a miracle, really, that Steve’s heart stayed put inside his chest.

“You can come along with me, if you want,” he said. “I have a new apartment now, and some clean clothes and a shower and I could make some food…”

“Tomorrow morning. 7:45. I’ll find you.”

“Okay,” Steve replied, no trace of hesitation in his voice.

Bucky nodded, then turned and was gone as quickly and quietly as he had arrived.

For a moment, Steve could only stand and stare at the empty space where Bucky had been seconds ago. He shook it off quickly and dashed out the door, hoping to see where his friend had gone, but he found no clues.

“Okay,” he said to himself, running a shaky hand through his hair, “okay.” He went back downstairs, pulling his silenced phone out of his pocket. There were three missed calls from Sam. Steve called him back as soon as he got outside the building.

“Rogers, it’s about damn time!” Sam said, answering after half a ring. “I was about ten seconds from putting on my wings—”

“I found him, Sam,” Steve said. “Well, actually, he found me.”

“What? Where? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I went back to the apartment. The old one, where… he found Fury and me. I thought maybe he would find me here again. Turns out he knew we were looking for him all along. He was avoiding us… until now, I guess.”

“Wow, Steve. That’s big. You sure you’re alright?” The sound of an engine starting rang out in the background.

“Yeah, I’m good — where are you?”

“In the car, on my way to come get you. You took a cab, right?”

“Well, yeah, but hey, you don’t have to do that, I can just call another—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll be right there. It’s not that far. This is what friends do, remember?”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said. “I’m right outside the building. See you soon.”

He hung up and pocketed the phone, then took a seat on the front steps, the early fall air chilly on his face and hands. He couldn’t help but look around at the neighborhood, searching the street and rooftops for his friend. He knew he wouldn’t find him, but he doubted the urge to search would go away any time soon. He didn’t feel anxious, though, like he had for the previous several months — actually, he was free of most thoughts and feelings besides the constant mantra of he’s alive and he found me running through his mind.

It wasn’t long before Sam arrived, so Steve’s attempt at a thorough search was cut short. He crossed the sidewalk to the street in a couple of long strides and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt in one fluid motion. He looked over at Sam, whose grin was wider than Steve had seen in a while.

“So. He’s here,” Sam said as he put the car in drive and got back on the road. “That’s great, Steve.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve replied, unable to help the smile that spread across his face. He gave Sam the rundown of what had just occurred.

“Wait a minute,” Sam said as Steve finished the story. “You’re telling me that you invited a guy that tried to kill you several times to breakfast at your apartment?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “I guess I did, yeah. What else was I going to do? Tell him no? Not a chance.”

“Hell, I don’t know. But you better believe I’m gonna be waiting downstairs with my wings in case things go south.”

Steve snorted. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“Well… fine. I can see there’s no way to talk you out of this.”

Steve shook his head.

Sam sighed. “It’s okay. I get it.” He paused. “I’d do the same thing if I had the chance.”

They were quiet. Steve felt a surge of sympathy for the other man — it must take a hell of a lot of strength for Sam, who had lost his own partner, to watch while Steve got the opportunity to get his back.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said. “For everything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam replied, just as they pulled into the tiny parking lot behind their building. Sam parked in the space next to Steve’s motorcycle, and the pair entered the building and went up the four flights of stairs to Sam’s floor.

“7:45, right?” Sam said before they parted ways.

“That’s right. I promise I will tell you if I get into trouble.”

“You bet you will!”

The pair shook hands, then Sam pulled Steve in for a tight hug.

“Be careful, Steve,” he said.

“You got it,” Steve replied.

Sam nodded and walked down the hall, and Steve bounded up the one remaining flight to his floor. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door to apartment 517, his temporary home.

He tried to sleep that night, he really did. But the next morning’s events proved too much to ignore. Bucky was coming back, and Steve couldn’t think about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title translation: "out of the blue"  
> Russian idiom found at http://masterrussian.com/idioms/russian_idioms.htm#a 
> 
> If you made it this far, THANK YOU for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Come talk to me at erin-emily-writes.tumblr.com if you are so inclined.


	2. играть с огнём

**Bucky**

Bucky was at Steve’s new apartment building by 7:00. He wore a hat and the same clothes from the night before — they were the only relatively clean things he had. For a while, he leaned against a wall across the street from the apartment’s front entrance, considering whether it was even a good idea to be there.

On one hand, he’d been able to see Steve the night before without any repercussions, and he’d been able to keep the Soldier under control for the last few weeks. And his memories were coming back faster than ever, but not all of them made sense. He couldn’t deny that he needed Steve to help sort things out — he was the only connection left between Bucky and his life before the war.

However, just because the Soldier hadn’t taken over recently didn’t mean he was gone. Bucky had felt that pull, that almost-itch in the back of his mind, if only for a second, the night before while he was talking to Steve. He might not remember everything, but one of the first things to come back to him was his urge to protect Steve at all costs.

Twice during the forty-five minutes he waited, Bucky started to walk away from the building. He’d shake his head and try to convince himself that he didn’t want to be there, that he could deal with everything on his own… or at least that it would be best for Steve if he didn’t show up. Then he would think about the previous five months that Steve had spent scouring the world for him, and the look on Steve’s face when he showed up at that dusty apartment, and he would turn around and go back purely with the hope that he’d see that same expression again.

At 7:40, Bucky entered the building and started slowly climbing the stairs.

7:43. He stopped at the fourth floor, peering down the hall to make sure Steve’s friend wasn’t already outside and waiting to attack.

7:44. He stood outside Steve’s door. Looked over the blue metal numbers nailed onto the pale wood. Closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly through his nose. Willed the Soldier to stay away.

7:45. Bucky knocked.

7:45:04. Steve answered.

“Hi, Buck,” Steve said with a warm half-smile.

“Hello,” was all Bucky could say. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Steve’s face.

“Do you want to come in?” Steve asked, holding the door open and standing aside.

Bucky nodded and took a few steps inside. The apartment was small, but not in a bad way. In a familiar way, actually. The building was old, and the paint and trim throughout the room was chipped and battered, like several families had lived in it and left their marks. The furniture was dark wood and leather with an oversized plush couch taking up most of the space in the living room, and the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace were full of history books, records, and the occasional newly-released book or film. The lights were relatively dim, something Bucky appreciated — he hated the prevalence of fluorescent and LED lights everywhere.

Steve gestured over to the kitchen table. Two hot cups of coffee sat steaming on placemats in front of chairs that weren’t exactly right beside each other, but were still on the same side of the table. Bucky sat down gingerly, scooting the chair back as he did. He didn’t think it was safe to be so close, although a part of him wished he could be.

“I have milk and sugar for that, if you want,” Steve said as he sat down. “It’s a lot stronger than it used to be.”

“I’ve noticed,” Bucky replied, but declined the extras. He sipped the hot coffee, and it was strong, but not as strong as the fancy sugary crap he’d bought from that mermaid place a few months ago. “A lot of food is different now,” he added, almost without thinking.

“I know! Have you tried the bananas?”

“They’re disgusting. What the hell happened?”

“Apparently some disease wiped out the old ones, so they had to replace them with this new kind that is not nearly as good.”

“Huh.” Bucky paused, suddenly weighed down again by the reality he now lived in. “Everything is different,” he added quietly.

Steve took a long drink from his mug.

“How are you, Bucky? Really,” he asked, his gaze focused intently on his friend.

Bucky looked down at the floor and thought over his answer. Steve didn’t push, just waited patiently. _He’s always been a good listener_ , Bucky thought, suddenly confronted with an image of himself from a few years before the war, possibly a little intoxicated, chatting away while lazily draped across in a chair in Steve’s apartment, and his scrawny friend nodding and laughing at all the right times from his seat by the open window. Bucky blinked a few times, surprised he remembered something like that. He shook it off and brought himself back to the present.

“Alive,” he finally answered.

Just like in the memory, Steve nodded.

“And some, a few, of my memories are coming back,” he added.

“Like what?” Bucky looked up at Steve, who looked like he regretted asking. “I mean, I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

“It’s… okay. Mostly I just get flashes of things — faces, feelings — but they aren’t very detailed.” Pause. “In the last few weeks or so, some stronger things have been getting through.” Pause. “Just now, I remembered talking your ear off some night back when we were kids. I think I was drunk.”

Steve laughed. Bucky felt the corners of his own mouth curve upward, just a little, probably not enough for Steve to notice, but still. It had been so long since he smiled, the sensation was almost foreign.

“You probably were,” Steve said. “But anyway. That’s a good start. I’m sure things will start coming back to you faster now that you’ve started to put some things together.”

“I remember some things from… during, too.”

Bucky flinched lightly as he heard himself say those words. He looked away again, wishing he had kept that bit of information to himself. Even with that small mention, he felt the slightest stirring in the back of his mind.

“Listen, Buck, that — that wasn’t you, okay?” Steve said after a moment.

Bucky shook his head. “I — I don’t — you were asleep for a long time, right?” he said, desperate for a subject change.

“Yeah, I was. Why?” Steve replied, seeming to sense Bucky’s discomfort.

“How did you… I don’t know, catch up?”

Steve put on another of those half-smiles, but this one was sadder.

“Well, it wasn’t easy.”

Steve proceeded to tell the story of the first several months after he woke up, how disorienting it was to wake up after so many years to a world that was so, so different. Bucky listened, and tried to ignore the Soldier’s quiet nagging, while Steve described his first visit back to Brooklyn, where it all seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t find most of the things he was looking for. Bucky was taken aback as Steve so easily shared memories of ugly breakdowns, personal tales of his inability to accept his new surroundings. He was also surprised by the unexpectedly strong feeling that he needed to protect Steve, and that he wished he could have been there to help somehow.

“About three months in was when it finally clicked for me that there was no way to go back, and I was stuck here whether I liked it or not,” Steve said, and Bucky hoped he was carrying the conversation toward a lighter path. “That’s when I started carrying this.”

Steve pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Bucky, who flipped through the first couple of pages.

“It’s a list of things, mostly pop-culture stuff, that people recommend or that I find out about and think I need to see or hear or read or experience. It gives me some sort of direction, or order, to getting back on track. It’s been really helpful… Buck, you okay?”

Bucky had stopped listening. His left arm was twitching and growing warm. The Soldier had perked up, finally realizing that its last target was sitting mere feet away.

_MISSION: ELIMINATE CAPTAIN AMERICA_. Bucky heard it like someone was shouting through a bullhorn in his brain.

_NO_ , he shouted back, _THERE IS NO MISSION ANYMORE_. He scrunched his eyes shut and pushed the Soldier back, holding his metal left hand in a tight fist to prevent any action. He didn’t realize he had stood up, or that Steve had taken a defensive stance but was still close by.

“Bucky, hey! Everything’s fine, we’re just talking,” Steve said, but Bucky barely heard him.

“I have to go,” Bucky said as he automatically walked toward the door, exit plan already mapped and initiated. Just before he left, he turned back and hoped he could say what he needed to without the Soldier taking over.

“I need time, a day or two,” he said, one last glance at Steve’s confused and sorrowful face. “I’ll come back.”

Bucky opened the door and dashed for the exit, which was the window at the end of the hall and the fire escape, noticing but electing to ignore the sound of Sam rushing up the stairs behind him. He hurled himself out the window and practically flew down the stairs, rushing back to the safety of the dingy, empty apartment he had been living in for the last several days.

His mind calmed as he ran, back to a manageable level by the time he was climbing into the apartment through its kitchen window. He sat down forcefully on the tattered couch, catching his breath but mostly assessing the situation.

Just as he had worried he would, he had put Steve in danger. He swore he would never do that, and now here he was. He stretched out on the couch and took several deep breaths. As he did, he realized that the Soldier had quieted, and what remained was the feeling that he needed to protect Steve. That feeling was stronger than ever, and Bucky thought that it might just be strong enough to keep the Soldier at bay the next time he saw Steve. And as he lay there, letting his mind wander through memories of the scrawny kid from Brooklyn and the super soldier he became, there was no use in denying the fact that there would, undoubtedly, be a next time.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title translation: "to play with fire"  
> Russian idiom found at http://masterrussian.com/idioms/russian_idioms.htm#a
> 
> If you made it this far, THANK YOU for reading! I plan to have all the chapters posted in the next couple of days, so if you're enjoying this, you won't have to wait too long for updates. Come talk to me at erin-emily-writes.tumblr.com if you are so inclined.


	3. встречать хлебом-солью

Sam was upstairs almost immediately after Bucky left, sweeping the apartment to make sure Bucky wasn’t just hiding away somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to attack. Unsatisfied, he stayed there for a good hour, discussing the rendezvous with Steve and trying to plan for the next one.

Steve’s heart wasn’t really in the conversation — it had gone with Bucky. He sullenly washed out Bucky’s empty mug and got a new one for Sam, pouring him coffee and refilling his own as if he was running on autopilot. He barely participated, letting Sam iron out whatever details made him more comfortable with the idea of Bucky returning, hoping he would realize that Steve just wanted to be alone. Luckily, Sam was a smart man and an excellent reader of people. He left Steve with strict instructions to remember to eat and to call him if he needed anything.

As soon as Sam closed the door behind him, Steve slumped in his chair and let out a deep sigh. He didn’t understand what had just happened, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault. Regardless, it was clear that Steve shouldn’t be around Bucky, for Bucky’s own sake. Steve cursed himself for thinking that Bucky could properly recover if his most recent target was around. He cursed himself again for selfishly hoping Bucky wasn’t lying when he said he’d be back. But he had to face the facts — he would wait for Bucky for as long as it took.

In the end, Steve waited a day and a half before Bucky visited again.

He was cooking himself dinner — a hearty, warm stew just like his mother used to make — when he heard a sharp knock on his door that shocked him like an electric current. He was at the door in a flash, not wanting to waste another second. He pulled the door open, and the sight of Bucky standing there was relief like a rain storm in the desert.

“You’re back,” he breathed.

“Said I would be,” Bucky replied, walking past Steve into the apartment more easily this time. Steve couldn’t hide his smile.

Bucky mumbled an apology for leaving so abruptly last time as he passed by. Steve brushed it off, of course, and offered Bucky a plate of the stew he was making. He thought he might have felt his heart skip a beat when Bucky accepted and sat down at the same place at the kitchen table he‘d chosen the day before. Steve finished the dinner and served it, and let Bucky direct the conversation this time, hoping maybe that would help avoid another episode.

Mainly, Bucky asked questions about the current state of society. At first, Bucky asked more about social norms and how they had changed since the forties. Steve happily explained how everything was much less formal than Bucky might remember, people didn’t have to wear hats everywhere anymore, that the food was generally better but that inflation still gave him sticker shock when he went out to buy a gallon of milk, and that smoking turned out to be unhealthy — not that that mattered, because Bucky had stopped smoking once he realized the smoke bothered Steve’s fragile lungs.

Then Steve felt and heard his phone buzz in his pocket, and he ignored it because nothing could be more important than the person sitting across from him, but Bucky was interested.

“Can you show me how to use that?” he asked, and of course Steve obliged.

As he showed Bucky how to make calls, use apps, and access the Internet, Steve noticed that the spark of uncertainty that had been almost hidden in Bucky’s eyes disappeared. His friend leaned forward and was absorbed in the task of learning this new skill, and it seemed like he was enjoying it enough to let his guard down a little. Steve made a mental note of that. He tried not to think about the fact that Bucky could probably pilot any plane or use any weapon placed in front of him, but he didn’t know how to use a smartphone.

Bucky stayed for a little longer this time, leaving only after they had finished eating and it was getting relatively late. Steve tried to ask about where Bucky was staying — he stopped himself before he said “hiding” — but Bucky gave nothing away. He simply stated that he had some business to take care of but he’d be back for lunch in a few days. Steve didn’t bother to ask for any clarification, figuring he’d rather not know anyway.

The next several weeks continued in a similar fashion, and each time they met Bucky seemed a little more like the man Steve used to know. Their conversations became more comfortable, he visited more often, and he seemed to lose some of his apprehension. His whole demeanor seemed more relaxed, and he just seemed more alive. On the fifth visit, he even smiled a little, and Steve all but melted.

During the third week, all they talked about was pop culture. For a relatively reclusive man, Bucky had still heard his fair share of references and expressions he did not understand. A couple of times, Steve couldn’t explain something and had to enlist Sam’s help. Once, when he texted Sam ‘what does LMFAO mean,’ he actually heard Sam laughing from the floor below. It took some time to resolve the miscommunication and realize that ‘laughing my fucking ass off’ was, in fact, the answer to his question and not a description of what Sam was doing.

One afternoon, as they looked through Steve’s collection of music, movies, and books, Steve gave Bucky a notebook and pencil just like the ones he had (they had come in a pack) and helped him start his own list of things to catch up on. From then on, they made a point to listen to some new music while they cooked or cleaned, and they might have spent a few visits in a row marathoning episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series.

Bucky had been coming around for a little over a month before he started volunteering some more sensitive information. Steve flinched a little but listened carefully as Bucky told stories of some of the missions he’d been on while the Soldier was in control — assassinations of political figures and  terrorizing towns. Steve could tell when Bucky’s stories were getting to be too much by how much he clenched and unclenched his left hand, and he got good at changing the subject when Bucky stopped talking.

Overall, Bucky accepted help with a lot, from technology to coping strategies for his memories, but he never acknowledged Steve’s questions about whether he had adequate shelter or enough food, money, or clothing. Steve assumed he was okay in the area of shelter because Bucky was alive, after all, and relatively clean, but he got the feeling that he didn’t have much food or money. Bucky always wore the same couple of dark shirts and pairs of jeans, and the same hoodie (and the same black leather glove on his left hand), and he usually showed up around mealtimes.

One evening as the pair cleaned up their dinner of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes — Steve washed the dishes and Bucky dried and put them away, he’d been around enough that he knew where everything belonged — Steve noticed in the thermometer he’d installed outside the window over the kitchen sink that the temperature had dipped into the thirties. He glanced over at Bucky, wearing that same hoodie, and decided this was the last straw.

“I think you’re gonna need a coat soon, Buck,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Bucky paused in the middle of drying the last plate to look back at Steve and roll his eyes.

“They trained me in Russia, Steve, I think I can handle D.C. in October,” he said, reaching up to put the plate in the cabinet.

Steve shook his head. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need a coat.”

Bucky started to argue, but Steve cut him off, tossing his sponge back into the sink a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Come on, Buck, give me a break,” he said. “I don’t even know where you’re staying or if it has heat.”

Bucky avoided eye contact. “Jesus, Steve. I said I’m fine.”

“Can you just look at me for one damned minute?”

Bucky looked up, jaw set and angry, and for the first time since Bucky had showed up on his doorstep over a month ago, it felt like he was looking into the eyes of his stubborn, surly, handsome, arrogant best friend.

“You’ve been looking after me my entire life,” Steve said, choosing his words carefully. “You peeled me off the pavement in back alleys all across New York. You stayed by me every night while I was sick and mom was working the late shift. You made sure I was warm and fed after she died. You wouldn’t leave without me back in that HYDRA warehouse in forty-five. You even pulled my sorry ass out of the Potomac when you barely remembered who I was.”

Steve paused, and Bucky still stared hard back at him, though he thought he noticed his friend’s eyes reddening just a little.

“Please,” he continued. “Please let me look after you, just this once. I’ve got extra clothes, and you can stay on the couch, and you practically live here anyway—“

“Fine.”

Steve stopped talking, brow furrowed with surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“I said fine,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“Well, okay then,” Steve said, shocked and hoping to God that Bucky wasn’t bluffing. “I’ll make up the couch for when you get back.”

“Okay.”

Bucky stared at Steve, like he was also trying to figure out if his friend was bluffing. After a long look, he walked toward the front door. Steve followed.

“Be back in thirty,” Bucky said, and closed the door behind him.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title translation: "to give a warm welcome"  
> Russian idiom found at http://masterrussian.com/idioms/russian_idioms.htm#a
> 
> If you made it this far, THANK YOU for reading! I plan to have all the chapters posted in the next couple of days, so if you're enjoying this, you won't have to wait too long for updates. Come talk to me at erin-emily-writes.tumblr.com if you are so inclined.


	4. из одного теста

**Bucky**

 

If he was honest with himself, Bucky had silently been hoping that Steve would ask him to move in for a couple of weeks. Since he’d started visiting, Bucky had gone through three different flats in the same decrepit building. It wasn’t like he had many possessions — he had accumulated a few changes of clothes, a couple of history books, copies of some of SHIELD’s leaked files and all the information they had about Steve, and a few hygiene items he’d stolen from a drug store — but he had to admit, he wasn’t enjoying the standard of living.

The heart of the problem was that Bucky didn’t have any money. He’d escaped from HYDRA’s control after dropping Steve on the riverbank with nothing but whatever he had on his person, which was mostly weapons. After so many years of having food, clothing, and shelter provided for him, in addition to having very few memories about surviving in the real world, the only way he knew how to survive was to steal. But as his memory returned, he felt his moral compass spinning back into place, and he stopped taking anything he didn’t need for survival. That meant he was living on canned beans and vegetables and stale bread, as he had in the forties, until he found Steve and started spending more and more time there.

Speaking of that moral compass, it wasn’t pointing straight ahead as Bucky collected his things and made his way back to Steve’s apartment. Despite the fact that he worried just about every minute that something was going to trigger the Soldier and it (…he?) would lash out and injure or even kill Steve, Bucky couldn’t help feeling like he was taking advantage of the fact that Steve had a soft couch and good food and heat and electricity and money. He guessed this feeling was likely left over from the society he’d grown up in, but it was still as strong as ever.

He frowned all the way to Steve’s door. He knocked, and as usual, Steve let him in within seconds, wearing that expression that Bucky learned meant Steve was worried he’d never come back. They nodded at each other, and Bucky dropped his one duffel — clothes on the top, supplies in the middle, weapons hidden at the bottom — next to the couch, which now had an extra set of sheets and several blankets stretched across it. It was beautiful.

“Is it… okay?” Steve asked, still standing at the edge of the room and looking concerned.

“It’s great, Steve,” Bucky replied. “Thank you.”

Steve relaxed, leaning against the wall. “You can hit the shower if you want, there are towels and extra clothes already in there.”

“You tryin’ to tell me something?” Bucky said, smirking.

Steve smiled broadly. “Of course not,” he said, “you smell like a field of daisies. Just do it, Barnes.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Steve laughed. “I’ll be in here,” he said, crossing the room to pick a book from one of the shelves before taking a seat in one of the leather armchairs.

Bucky shook his head and headed to the bathroom. He shut the door, turned the shower on, and stripped, catching sight of his left arm glinting in the mirror. He inspected the area where his shoulder met metal, which luckily was not very inflamed at the moment. He stepped into the shower and used his right arm to wash his hair — he’d made the mistake of using his left hand once, and the hair he’d lost after it had gotten tangled in the metal joints had convinced him to be more careful. He tried to spend as little time in the shower as possible, but he found himself just standing and letting the hot water run over his face, scarred chest, and tight shoulder and back muscles several times. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a shower that was adequately hot, let alone one in a place where he felt safe enough to take longer than two or three minutes.

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky reluctantly turned the water off and stepped out onto the rug, toweling his hair and body dry. He glanced up at the clock — Steve had a clock in almost every room, and analog ones at that — and noticed that only eight minutes had passed. He considered it an improvement.

Bucky dressed quickly, though he might have lingered a moment or two while he pulled on the t-shirt as he noticed just how much like Steve it smelled. He also took a minute to brush his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste Steve had left on the sink with a post-it labeled “Bucky.” When he was finished, he looked himself over in the mirror. Only then did he realize that because the shirt had short sleeves, he would have no choice but to leave his metal arm uncovered. It would be the first time Steve had seen it since their fight on the helicarrier. He knew there was nothing he could do, short of asking for a new shirt, but then Steve would think that was weird or ask questions…

 _Get over it, Bucky_ , he thought to himself, shaking his head. _You live with the guy now, this was bound to happen sooner or later_.

Before he lost his resolve, Bucky opened the bathroom door and walked back out into the living room to stuff his old clothes into his bag.

“That was quick,” Steve said with a smile. “But you look better.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky replied. He sat gingerly on the end of the couch opposite the chair Steve was sitting in, so his left arm was blocked by the rest of his body. If Steve noticed, he didn’t let on.

He did notice the yawn Bucky was unable to stifle, however. Steve laughed and closed his book, then stood up and put it back on the shelf.

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky said, not wanting to mess up Steve’s evening plans, whatever they were.

“Buck, we’re more than ninety years old,” Steve said. “By society’s standards, we should have been asleep four hours ago. It’s time for me to hit the sack anyway. Is there anything else you need?”

Bucky shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

Steve crossed the room and clapped a hand on Bucky’s arm. His left arm. Neither of them flinched.

“It’s the least I can do,” Steve said. “It’s good to have you here.”

“Thanks,” was all Bucky could manage. He swore that sometimes it seemed like Steve just exuded positivity from every one of his serum-enhanced pores. It was like looking into the damn sun.

Bucky loved it.

Steve beamed, and went to his bedroom, which was just off the living room. “I’m gonna leave this open a little, just in case,” he said, and Bucky nodded. “Alright, then. ‘Night, Buck.”

“’Night, Steve.”

Steve pushed his door closed, but left a few inches of space. Bucky heard him getting ready for bed and getting comfortable, then saw the light go out. He stood up and turned out the lamp by Steve’s chair, then arranged himself on the couch so that he could see Steve’s door… just in case.

He tried to fall asleep right away. He scrunched his eyes closed, slowed his breathing, and even tried to command himself to go to sleep, but nothing worked. He sat up and sighed, putting his face in his hands. He should have known better. He hadn’t been in the apartment at night when it was this quiet, so he could hear all the city sounds from outside and the building’s unfamiliar creaks, and they were all distracting and sometimes even startling. He reverted to what he always did in a new situation — he looked around the room and mentally catalogued all the exits, routes, and possible weapons. He’d done the same thing with this apartment within the first few minutes of being inside it, but this time, every scenario revolved around protecting Steve.

Once he had convinced himself that he could succeed under any plausible attack, Bucky fell asleep within minutes.

The first few days went smoothly. Bucky found himself falling into a routine with Steve. They woke around the same time each morning as the sun came up, ate breakfast, and read the newspaper. They spent most of the day trading off between crossing things off of lists, doing chores, and cooking, and they sometimes discussed new memories that Bucky found were cropping up every day. On the third day, those memories were mostly from his time as the Soldier.

On the third night, he had a nightmare, the first in a while.

_He was somewhere cold, covered in snow and ice. It was dark. Someone was feeding him instructions through an earpiece — he was to get into the house, neutralize the target, and get out, and a helicopter would pick him up just on the outskirts of the small city. It was one of his first missions. He blasted through the door, found the middle-aged man who was his target, and shot him. He turned to leave, ignoring the screams of the man’s family who happened to be just one room away, until the voice in his ear told him not to leave any witnesses. He turned and went into the second room, not registering the terror in the screams of the woman and her children, and raised the gun…_

“Bucky! Bucky, hey, wake up!”

Bucky jolted awake, eyes darting around the room until they fell on Steve’s concerned face about a foot away from his. He blinked a few times, slowly realizing he was still on the couch in Steve’s living room and not thousands of miles away in Siberia, or wherever his dream, or memory, had been.

“Breathe, Buck,” Steve said, squeezing his hand.

That’s when Bucky noticed that Steve was holding his right hand. Bucky squeezed back, too panicked to have any other reaction, especially the oh-god-he’s-holding-my-hand reaction he probably would have had under any other circumstances. He took a few deep, shaking breaths and started to return to normal.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve said.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Bucky replied, getting a short chuckle from Steve.

“Cut it out. Are you okay?”

Bucky leaned back and closed his eyes, but he didn’t let go of Steve’s hand. It was too warm and reassuring. “Fine,” he muttered. “I think… it was a memory.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Okay.” Steve was quiet for a moment. “Anything I can do?”

Bucky hesitated. “Just… sit with me, maybe?”

Steve was sitting by his side on the couch almost instantly. He didn’t drop Bucky’s hand. They were quiet for several minutes while Bucky caught his breath.

“How did you know?” Bucky finally asked.

It was Steve’s turn to hesitate. “Well, at first I thought you were just talking in your sleep. It was Russian, I think, I didn’t understand it all. I’ve picked up some from Nat, but, not enough. Then… then you were yelling, I think you were saying ‘no’ or ‘stop.’”

Bucky’s head drooped into his metal hand. “I… I didn’t know I did that. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had my fair share, too, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He told the story of one particular night when he had apparently been shouting so loudly in his sleep that Sam had to break down his door to make sure he wasn’t being attacked.

It made Bucky feel the slightest bit better. The two of them sat, just chatting, for quite a while after that. At some point, they both started drifting off. Bucky’s head slid down to rest on Steve’s shoulder and the pair fell asleep like that, still holding hands like they’d done it every day of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title translation: "two of a kind"  
> Russian idiom found at http://masterrussian.com/idioms/russian_idioms.htm#a
> 
> If you made it this far, THANK YOU for reading! Come talk to me at erin-emily-writes.tumblr.com if you are so inclined.


	5. заблудиться в трёх соснах

**Steve**

 

Steve blinked a few times before opening his eyes, squinting past the bright sunlight shining in through thin curtains. His mind was foggy, still slowly coming back from the dream he’d been having — he tried to hold onto the vision he’d created of himself and Bucky together somewhere far away, but it was fading fast and he was left with flashes of sun and sand and clear water, of smiles and closeness and bare skin.

He lifted his head gingerly. His neck hurt, and he started to reach up to rub it, but couldn’t move his arm. Confused, he tried to turn his head to look at it, but his chin bumped into something solid, and his eyes snapped open.

Bucky was pressed against his side, still asleep, with his head resting on Steve’s shoulder and his right hand entwined with Steve’s left. Steve smiled briefly, but it quickly faded. He’d thought before of waking up next to Bucky, but it was always under more pleasant circumstances, and definitely not after Bucky’s nightmare screams had woken them both up in the middle of the night.

Although he would have liked to stay there on the couch with Bucky for the rest of his life, Steve looked up at the clock and saw that it was almost nine in the morning. He realized he’d missed his morning run with Sam, and knew that he probably had several concerned texts and maybe some voicemails waiting for him — not to mention the fact that Sam probably heard Bucky’s terrified shouting the night before. Steve had no choice but to find his phone, though he wasn’t exactly sure how to move without waking Bucky. He didn’t really think he could, but he tried.

He got as far as trying to untangle their hands before Bucky stirred. He inhaled sharply and squeezed Steve’s hand, almost instinctively. He mumbled something — Steve swore it was his name — before seeming to wake up instantly. He dropped Steve’s hand and looked at him as if he was startled.

“Sorry,” Steve said hurriedly. “I tried not to wake you.”

Bucky blinked. “’S okay,” he replied, staring at Steve for a few seconds more before turning away to stretch his neck.

Steve took the opportunity to stand up and stretch, then started walking toward the bedroom. Bucky looked up at him quizzically.

“Gotta get my phone,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded.

Steve picked up his phone from his nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, just as he heard Bucky get up from the couch. He found four texts, no voicemails. He read through the texts, and heard the bathroom door shut in the background. Sam had texted at 3:18 am, when he’d first heard the screams, then again at 3:24 when he said he could hear them talking and figured everything was under control. The third text was at 6:07 asking if he was coming to run, and the final one from 7:43 just read “just let me know you’re still alive sometime.” Steve smiled and texted back — “Everything is fine, Bucky is crashing here and had a nightmare, I’ll make up for the run tomorrow” — as the bathroom door opened again and Bucky walked back down the hall. He was about to head to the bathroom himself when he heard clanging from the kitchen. He went that way instead, and found Bucky looking triumphant with a frying pan in one hand, a spatula in the other, and the half-full carton of eggs from the refrigerator on the counter next to the stove.

“I’m making eggs,” Bucky announced.

Steve grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Surely I can’t fuck up eggs.”

“Didn’t say you would,” Steve said.

As Bucky cracked the eggs into the pan, Steve went to get some orange juice for the two of them. Upon a quick inspection as he removed the carton, Steve realized that there wasn’t much of anything left in the fridge aside from a nearly empty jug of milk, some miscellaneous fruits and vegetables, and a few containers of leftovers.

He closed the door, got two glasses and poured the juice, and put it back before taking a seat at the table. He took a drink and put his glass down.

“I need to get groceries,” he said.

“Okay,” Bucky replied. “Have fun.”

“I think you should come too.”

Bucky shot him a skeptical glance. “You think that’s a good idea?” Steve could tell that it was a real question under the sarcastic tone Bucky used.

“Yep, I do. You up to it? Won’t take long, closest store’s just down the block.”

“I know.” Of course he did. Bucky sighed, flipping the eggs and pulling plates out of the cabinet. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

After they ate — Steve proclaimed that the eggs were the best he’d ever eaten, and Bucky rolled his eyes but smiled genuinely when he thought Steve couldn’t see — Steve donated a few more sets of clothing to the let-Bucky-wear-clean-clothes fund, and they dressed and left the apartment together for the first time.

The trip to the store went as smoothly as Steve could have hoped. For the first several minutes, Bucky sulked behind Steve, scouting out exits and weapons as usual. But when they got through the produce to the dry goods aisles, Steve gave Bucky a list of items to find, and he begrudgingly found them all and brought them to the cart. He looked a little livelier after that, like he might actually be enjoying spending time outside of the apartment. They paid for their groceries and took them back to the apartment, celebrating the successful outing by sitting down for a marathon of Hitchcock movies.

Knowing that Bucky could survive an outing like getting groceries, Steve made a point to take him out more often. He started by taking him to run some errands, like going to the bank and the drug store, and then to get Bucky clothes of his own. A few days later, Steve brought Bucky along on one of his morning runs with Sam, after Sam agreed that Bucky had shown he was, in fact, the kind you save. Bucky tried to apologize for what had happened so many months ago, but Sam brushed it off and accepted him into the group without hesitation, and Steve thanked him profusely for that.

Bucky enjoyed the first run, so he kept running with them every morning after that. Sam’s easygoing demeanor and ability to sneak important life and health advice into regular conversations seemed to have a positive effect on Bucky, and Steve made sure to include Sam on other outings like lunch at Steve’s favorite pizza joint around the corner or that new Thai place a few streets over. Steve always checked with Bucky before and after the excursions to make sure he was still comfortable, and he seemed to be getting more and more at ease with being in crowds as time went on.

It was nearing Thanksgiving when Steve suggested they do something for more than an hour. He’d been seeing posters around the city for a touring musical about kids selling papers around 1900, and it had reminded him both of his childhood job and how he and Bucky used to sneak into theaters as kids, mostly to get out of the heat but also because, hey, free entertainment. At first, Bucky was wary about being exposed for several hours at once, but Steve finally convinced him by promising they could get ice cream from Bucky’s favorite place on the way home.

So on a cold Wednesday evening, Steve and Bucky ate an early dinner and got dressed up. Steve wore a dark navy suit with a matching bow tie, while Bucky’s suit was all black — he’d refused to try on anything else when Steve had taken him shopping. It had been a while since Bucky had donned a suit, so Steve helped him knot his tie, and Bucky helped Steve find his shoes. They both stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a moment before they left, and Steve couldn’t help but appreciate how good Bucky looked in his suit. He thought he might have caught a glimpse of Bucky giving him a once-over as well, but he just smiled to himself and didn’t mention it.

They took a cab down to the theater, timing their departure so they would arrive just before the show began and avoid drawing too much attention to themselves. They were directed to their seats — which weren’t the best, but they were near an exit just in case — and had just enough time to get comfortable before the lights dimmed and the show began. The overture played, and Steve started to second guess this whole idea. What if Bucky didn’t like it, what if theater wasn’t his thing? What if he spent the whole show feeling uncomfortable, wishing they were back in the safety of Steve’s apartment?

But then, the lights came up on the stage and Steve’s breath caught in his throat. As the show started, it was as if Steve was watching the teenaged versions of himself and Bucky — a small but determined boy with a crutch and a taller, handsome boy full of passion and big dreams. One glance to his left at Bucky’s astonished expression told Steve he’d noticed it, too.

The boys on stage, Jack and Crutchie, broke into the first musical number, and Jack sang about wishing he could get out of New York and go to Santa Fe, where the air is clear and the work is honest. Steve felt a lump in his throat as Jack painted a picture of the wonderful life they could have together there, and when Crutchie imagined being able to stand and run.

“ _Don’t you know that we’s a family? Would I let you down? No way_ ,” sang Jack, and in the audience, Bucky silently took Steve’s hand and held it tight, and Steve knew exactly what he meant.

They stayed that way until the show ended, letting go only to applaud at the appropriate times and then finally to join the standing ovation at the end of the performance. As soon as the curtains closed, they left their seats and exited the theater through a side door. The pair made their way down the street toward the ice cream shop, walking close together.

“So,” Steve said. “Did you like it? I had a great time.”

“So did I,” Bucky replied, and he sounded pleasantly surprised. “But there was a lot more singing and dancing than I remember.”

Steve laughed and Bucky smiled — a rare, real smile, one where he showed his teeth and looked down at the ground like he didn’t want anyone to see that he was expressing an emotion — and Steve couldn’t help but sling his arm around his friend’s shoulders, just like Bucky had done to him so often all those years ago.

The moment was broken as they passed an alley, and a sound like gunfire split the wintry air.

Bucky’s whole demeanor changed. He grabbed Steve’s shirt and pulled him into the alley, and took a defensive stance and his head snapped back and forth as he tried to locate the source of the sound, eyes narrowed and focused.

“Bucky, hey, it was just a car backfiring, everything’s fine,” Steve said, reaching out and tentatively touching Bucky’s shoulder.

That had been the wrong move to make. Bucky reached around and caught Steve’s wrist in a tight grip. Steve froze, and Bucky looked at him like he had no idea who he was. But then realization dawned in his eyes, and he pushed Steve back against the wall.

“No, Buck, it’s me, Steve!” he tried to get out of Bucky’s grip, but couldn’t without hurting him.

“You’re my mission,” Bucky whispered, and started to wrap his metal fingers around Steve’s neck.

Steve used his free hand to try and pull Bucky’s hand away from his throat. “I know you’re in there, Buck, don’t do this!” he choked out. “Bucky, PLEASE!”

Maybe it was the shouting, maybe it was Steve fighting back, maybe it was Bucky fighting through, Steve didn’t know, but something made Bucky let go. He stumbled back, and Steve collapsed onto the ground, catching his breath and coughing.

Bucky looked around, clearly confused. His eyes landed on Steve, and his expression turned from bewilderment to horror.

“It happened,” he muttered. “Oh, fuck. Steve—”

“It’s okay, I’m fine, don’t worry—”

“It’s not fucking okay! Nothing about this is okay.”

Bucky shook his head as if to clear it. Steve couldn’t remember ever seeing him this angry.

“I… I’m sorry, Steve,” he said, holding eye contact for barely a moment before turning and sprinting out of the alley and into the crowds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title translation: "to lose one's way in broad daylight"  
> Russian idiom found at http://masterrussian.com/idioms/russian_idioms.htm#a 
> 
> Only one chapter left! Thanks to everyone who made it this far. You can find me at erin-emily-writes.tumblr.com. Come chat!


	6. несмотря ни на что

**Bucky**

 

Bucky knew exactly what Steve would do — he’d haul himself up and take off, trying to follow Bucky to wherever he was running. But Bucky was barely in control of the Soldier, and he needed Steve to be as far away from him as possible. His first task was to evade Steve until he gave up, and Bucky knew he would eventually do just that. He’d left suddenly before, and he knew Steve would end up going back to the apartment to wait until Bucky either showed up again or didn’t.

For the time being, Bucky dodged through the throngs of people, ducking his head so he wouldn’t be recognized, and took refuge on the third floor of a commercial building while Steve frantically searched the surrounding area. After about half an hour, Steve gave up. Bucky watched through the windows of the empty office as he sulked toward the closest subway station, and whatever icy bits were left of his heart broke when Steve stopped to look desperately around the streets once more before descending the stairs.

Bucky turned away from the window and sank to the floor, head in his hands. He’d known this would happen, he told himself from the beginning that getting back in contact with Steve was a shitty idea, not because he didn’t want to, but because it would hurt Steve. And here he was, hiding from him because he’d just attacked him. Who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to fight the Soldier back this time? What then? Most likely, he’d come to, blood on his hands and a mangled Steve on the pavement at his feet, with no memory of how it happened.

He cursed himself for being so selfish. Sure, being around Steve was helping with his memories and acclimation to the society he knew hardly anything about. Sure, his heart beat a little faster when he saw Steve in that tux for the first time earlier that evening.

And sure, some of the memories he kept to himself included Steve, and a feeling Bucky had been afraid to voice in the forties. It was the same feeling that had crept back up on him several weeks ago when he’d started to remember what love was… when he’d started to consider that he might be capable of feeling it, and maybe, just maybe, acting on it.

But none of that mattered now, because even if he did love Steve, the most important “mission” he’d ever had was to keep Steve safe, and he was failing it every day by just existing within a fifty-mile radius of him.

When he was sure Steve was gone, Bucky forced himself to get up and leave the building, walking aimlessly around the streets and trying to figure out his next plan of action. It was obvious that he couldn’t stay with Steve anymore, but everything he owned was at Steve’s apartment, so he’d have to go back one more time to collect it all. After that… he’d take some of the money Steve had given him and take the next bus west, and get away from Steve as quickly as possible. The idea tore at him, but it was all he had.

His traveling pace slowed to a drag the closer he got to Steve’s. He didn’t realize he was walking there until he passed Steve’s favorite Italian restaurant three blocks from the apartment. He meandered down the street, wondering how he could possibly tell Steve, his best friend — and maybe more, or so he’d hoped before — that he was leaving and never coming back. He could see the hurt on Steve’s face, and he felt it like ice in his stomach. He tried to push it away as he got to the building and climbed the stairs, but he couldn’t. He paused outside the apartment to steel himself, then unlocked the door with the spare key Steve had given him, and entered.

Steve was waiting in his favorite armchair in the living room. He was holding an icepack to his neck, but it didn’t cover all of the bruises Bucky’s hand had left.

“Hey,” Steve said.

Bucky just shook his head and pulled his bag out from under the couch. “I can’t stay anymore,” he said, collecting clothes and books from the living room and stuffing them in the bag.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve replied.

Bucky said nothing, just went to the bathroom to get the last of his things. When he’d found everything, thrown it into the bag, and was heading for the door, he found Steve blocking his path.

“Move, Rogers,” Bucky said, adopting the monotone he’d learned to use when his emotions threatened to get the better of him.

“Bucky, don’t do this,” Steve pleaded.

“Don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you do. Would you just talk to me about it, please?”

“What is there to talk about? I _attacked_ you, for fuck’s sake. You’re not safe with me here.”

“I don’t want to be without you here.” Steve’s voice broke, and he paused. Bucky was speechless. “Don’t leave me again, Buck. I can’t… I need you.”

“For what? You have everything already,” It was getting harder and harder to keep up the monotone. “I’m just a broken brainwashed assassin in the shell of a guy you knew when you were a kid. I’ve got blood on my hands that’s never coming off, not after all the things that I’ve done.”

Steve let out a laugh that sounded a little bit like a sob.

“Oh yeah? You think I have everything? Let me tell you something, James Barnes. They may have given me money and a place to live and transportation, but that does not mean everything’s all fine and dandy. Not a damn day has gone by since I woke up where I’ve felt like I belonged here, or where I didn’t miss my mother or you something fierce. Hell, I even missed all those damn girls you brought around, even though you were mine and I was jealous, they still meant that we were all alive and together and happy and that is all I have wanted. … And I got some of that back when you showed up in that dirty apartment a couple of months ago. I didn’t think I could be so happy or that I could love you any more but that day, when you were still alive and you came to find me, I thought it was the best day of my life. But every day since has been better, because you remembered more and learned more and remembered _me_ and _us_ and I cannot imagine that all gone again, me alone in this apartment knowing that you’re out there somewhere just because you think I’m safer if you’re not around when really there’s no point in living if you’re not here, with me. I don’t care about anything you’ve done except come back to me. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal, and you’re not gonna get rid of me this easy.”

Sometime during that minute of Steve spilling his heart onto the floor, Bucky had dropped his bag. And so he stood there, hands dangling limply at his side, mouth agape, staring wet-eyed at the man he’d loved since they were eighteen.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, wiping his hand over his face. “That was too much, I—”

“You love me?” Bucky interrupted. “Like, _love_ love?”

Steve squeezed his eyelids shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want to tell you like this… hell, I wasn’t sure if I was even going to tell you at all…” He looked at Bucky, and his eyes were pleading for him not to run away. “But it’s the truth. And I understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” Bucky said, and he grabbed a fistful of Steve’s shirt, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Steve froze for a moment, but in an instant his hands were in Bucky’s hair and he was kissing him back like he’d waited for that moment his whole life. He tasted like a strange mix of coffee and spearmint chewing gum, but Bucky didn’t care. He was wrapped up in Steve’s arms, in this weird and wonderful I-can’t-believe-this-is-finally-happening kind of kiss.

When they broke apart, Steve rested his forehead against Bucky’s while they caught their breath.

“Bucky?” Steve said quietly.

“What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, what?” Bucky’s brow furrowed in worry.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?”

Relief washed over him. “Maybe. What’s it to ya?”

“I just… you don’t seem to need any practice.”

“Everyone needs practice,” Bucky replied, and kissed him again.

 

*             *             *

 

Everything wasn’t perfect, even after that night of explanations and confessions. Bucky still had the occasional struggle against the Soldier, and his arm sometimes acted of its own accord. He still got frustrated when he couldn’t remember someone or something, or when some technological advancement or social interaction got the best of him. He still had bad days when memories or the twenty-first century were too overwhelming and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but sulk around the apartment.

But those days were rarer than they once were, now that Bucky slept with Steve’s arm around him and their hands entwined every night. He’d also grown close to Sam, who had so much valuable experience with and advice to pass on that helped start Bucky on the path to forgiving himself for the things the Soldier had done throughout the last few decades.

Bucky even started to pick up some hobbies — he found that he was relatively talented at cooking, and was having an easy time learning to play the piano. Some of Bucky’s favorite new memories were of watching Steve eat and enjoy food Bucky had cooked from a new recipe, or sitting at the small piano Steve had acquired and placed against the far wall of the living room and plunking out a few bars of a new song while Steve read in his chair by the fireplace. Of course, his other new favorite memories had taken place mostly in the bedroom, and included significantly more skin and sweat and mutterings of _I love you, you’re here and I love you just as you are._

Sure, everything wasn’t perfect. But Bucky and Steve had each other, and that’s all they ever needed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title translation: "no matter what"  
> Russian idiom found at: http://masterrussian.com/idioms/russian_idioms.htm#a 
> 
> That's it, folks! ...for now, at least. I might already have ideas for more, we'll see how it goes. Anyway, for all of you who stuck with me til the end of the line, thank you!! It really means a lot. : )
> 
> Come talk to me at erin-emily-writes.tumblr.com, sometimes I talk about writing there.


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